Uncontrollable
by AkaChanDango
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy's life is everything he could have ever wanted. He has two lovely kids, a wonderful husband whom he loves dearly. It's perfect. Almost too perfect to be true. That is, until one fateful winter night, when Francis watches the life he worked so hard to build come crashing down around him. After all, all good things must come to an end, right? Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Rated M for major character death, alcoholism and graphic depictions or chronic depression. Warnings may be added at the beginning of chapters as I come to them.

This story will be written in a series of one-shots, in chronological order but occasionally with major time skips in between.

* * *

Another afternoon spent at the bar, wallowing in self pity and past tragedies. Another drink, another fight, another night spent bent over the toilet.

When did his life get like this?

Francis looked up at the bathroom wall, waiting for the wave of nausea he knew was coming. 'I shouldn't have had that last drink.' He thought.

A very small, very quiet part of his mind knew that he should have never had the first.

He leant his head down as another wave of nausea overtook him.

Quiet footsteps padded down the hall towards the bathroom. The door opened and a small head peaked in. Blond curls fallen into his face and messy from sleep. Big, violet eyes staring innocently at the sight before him. The boy couldn't be older than ten, yet he didn't seem surprised by the sight.

He opened the door fully and stepped into the room.

"Papa.." His voice was soft, quiet. "Are you alright? Come on, Papa. Let's get you to bed. Allons-y." He rubbed Francis's back gently.

"Ah, Mathieu..." Francis wiped some puke from the corner of his mouth and looked at his son warily. He felt ashamed. How could he possibly let the boy see him like this? It was terrible. Disgraceful. Yet it had happened so many times before. "Désolé, Mathieu... Go back to bed. Get your father for me please."

A flash of sorrow and pain within violet eyes. "My father... Papa, he's..." Matthew bit his lip and looked at Francis, hoping he wouldn't have to explain again.

"Oh." Francis stared back at Matthew. "Right. Sorry. I forgot." He lowered his eyes and slowly stood up. He swayed and had to hold onto Matthew's shoulder for support.

Matthew began walking Francis to his bedroom.

"Papa... You said alcohol was poison. Why do you drink it?"

Francis laid in his bed and looked into the innocent eyes of his son.

"Well, Mathieu, it's simple. I have things inside of me that I need to kill."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Warning: Major character death.

 **Two years earlier.**

"Francis you need to slow down."

Francis chuckled, glancing at his husband out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not even close to the speed limit, Arthur, calm down."

Pursing his lips in distaste, Arthur crossed his arms, looking out the window at the quickly passing scenery. It was late, so it was very dark. The light of the moon reflected off of the thick sheet of snow that covered the ground.

Francis didn't care much for winter, he preferred warmer weather. He loved the sun, he loved the warmth. But he occasionally enjoyed some cold winter nights, curled up with Arthur in bed after making love. They would talk. Talk about things they already knew, about things they loved to hear. About their week's, work, feelings. They would tell each other how much they love one another, exchanging tender kisses and warm hugs. Arthur would hug Francis to his chest, humming soft and tender lullabies until he fell asleep.

"He's probably fine." Francis spoke quietly after noticing how Arthur's brow was creased with worry.

They had been out doing some Christmas shopping when their babysitter had called. She had said that Matthew was sick, and that she wasn't sure what to do so Francis and Arthur had decided to go home and check in.

"I know that." Arthur replied haughtily. "I'm not worried. Shut up."

Francis turned his attention back to the road with a small smile on his face. Oh, how he loved the way Arthur would pout ever so subtly when he was embarrassed. He was worried about Matthew but he didn't want to admit it. _How cute,_ Francis thought.

He had a wonderful husband, two lovely sons for whom he cared deeply, and almost everything he had ever dreamt of. Francis was happier than ever.

But all good things must come to an end, right?

Francis lost control of the car, sliding on the slick, snowy highway. He tried hard to correct his mistake but to no avail. They spun out and suddenly Francis was upside down. Then right side up, then upside down again and right side up and upside down and-

It was all a blur, everything was a flurry of snow and dashboard and red.

Blood, so much blood.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before the car finally skidded to halt, upside down and missing a door. Francis remembered looking over at Arthur, seeing the blood cover his husband's face, seeing him hang lifelessly, held up only by his seatbelt.

He remembered calling out to him, screaming for him to _say anything, anything at all Arthur please, please..._

And Francis remembered the blood. The blood that stained the snow and glass. His blood. Arthur's blood.

And he would never forget it.


End file.
